


Natural Disasters

by MakaylaJade



Series: Fragments of You [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Anxiety Disorder, BAMF BAU, BAMF Spencer Reid, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Freeform, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Spencer Reid Whump, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakaylaJade/pseuds/MakaylaJade
Summary: Life had been slowly returning to normal, and with Derek by his side, it was easier to face the world head-on. But Spencer's world is shattered all over again when a certain unsub makes himself know, and this time, only he can pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Series: Fragments of You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937284
Comments: 30
Kudos: 120





	1. An Angel Gained

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is the second part of my 'Fragments of You' series - I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Please heed the warnings.

After two weeks of leave to heal and recover, Spencer was finally ready to go back to work. Morgan refuted of course, and since they were lovers now, Spencer knew he was just vocalizing his concern. But Spencer was ready, and despite Derek’s apprehension, he went to work at the beginning of week three. It had only been about four weeks since he had been rescued, but he was doing considerably well now that he had two different support systems — his family, including Derek, and a counselor who knew how to help him best.

It was nice to feel care coming from so many different directions, and even if it was his doctor’s _job_ to make him feel normal, she spoke to him in a way that alluded to a sort of friendship between them. Dr. Leah Vinel was a good woman, and she was as kind as she was intelligent — which was very. She helped him work through his difficulties of self-image and the healing process, which she modeled off of the five stages of grief, because in truth, Spencer had lost someone that night; the person he used to be. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t become him again, it would just take time.

So, on the morning of his first day back, which also happened to be his _birthday,_ he got up early, earlier than he normally would have since he hated mornings. But it was mainly because Derek had woken him when he got up for his routine morning jog, and Spencer never fell back asleep. And that was fine — he wanted to be ready this morning, even if it was his birthday, because as Leah had told him, going back to work would definitely help him return to a normal schedule which could assist in the healing process. It would return a sense of normalcy to Reid’s life that had been taken away from him when this first happened to him. Being in an environment that made him feel safe and comfortable was crucial for the healing path, and while Morgan’s house was definitely that, it wasn’t enough. He needed to feel safe and comfortable in _more than one_ location, and what better place to reestablish that feeling than the very place he worked?

Spencer rolled out of bed sighing softly and brushing his hair back out of his face. It was getting long again, and the idea of cutting it was sounding pretty appealing to him. He would schedule an appointment with his usual barber soon, if he built up the nerve, that is. Going out in public was still somewhat difficult, especially if he was alone. Having Morgan nearby was a constant reminder of his protection, but he couldn’t force Derek to accompany him everywhere. That was unhealthy and would only act as an obstacle for him. He needed to work on his independence again, so that he _could_ do things on his own. He couldn’t rely on others for the rest of his life. He was a grown man, and Leah had encouraged him to startrehabilitating himself back into society by doing simple solitary tasks, like grocery shopping or even getting coffee. He had yet to go grocery shopping again, mainly because being alone in a place that had too many people freaked him out — but getting his coffee was effortless. That’s what a caffeine addiction did.

Spencer wandered into the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning as he turned to look at himself at the recently repaired mirror. He looked a lot better already. Most of the wounds were healed, if not close to it, and the wound on his cheek was beginning to scar. The bags under his eyes were pretty much permanent, but they were less pronounced and not as dark as they had been. He brushed a hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble there and deciding he needed to shave. He never had liked facial hair, especially not on himself.

Derek trusted him enough to leave him with sharp things again, but that had taken a lot of persuasion and talking, and Spencer completely understood why. But after a week of taking antidepressants, the suicidal thoughts simmered down a bit. Of course, they still flared up, but they weren’t the kind that completely paralyzed him. Instead, they were merely passing thoughts, ‘what ifs’, per se, and he had no desire to follow through with any of those thoughts. Leah told him it was normal for them to still exist, so long as he didn’t have the urge to act upon them — which he didn’t. He talked with Morgan about his thoughts a lot, mainly because Morgan was the only one who really understood how he was feeling. He let him talk it out too, and if there was a ‘world’s best listener’ title, it would go to Derek without a doubt.

After shaving and brushing his teeth, he took a quick shower to get ready for the day. He towel-dried his messy hair, and just as he was stepping back into the bedroom from the bathroom, Derek entered from the hallway, a handsome smile touching his sweat-glistening face.

  
“Mornin’, Pretty Boy,” Morgan greeted simply, approaching the other half-naked man and gathering him in his arms, kissing the crown of his head gently before whispering, “And happy birthday.”

The two of them had discussed their relationship status, and decided that keeping it undisclosed would be best. Now, it was no secret that Reid was still living with Morgan, so riding to work together wouldn’t be seen as suspicious, thankfully. But he was worried about how well the two of them would be able to hide it. The last few weeks had been pretty intimate between the two of them, both physically and emotionally, so he had a feeling that it was going to be difficult just pushing it all aside now. It would definitely be a bit awkward at work, and he had a feeling that it would’t take the rest of the team long to figure out what was going on. He simply worried about their approval. He didn’t want them to think that Derek was taking advantage of him in his particularly weakened state, because that wasn’t the case at all. If anything, he feared he was taking advantage of _Derek_ , but he knew that was just his paranoid speaking.

“Good morning, and thank you,” Spencer hummed happily in response, a smile curling his full lips upwards at the small kiss before he stepped away from him in order to get dressed. Derek headed to the bathroom without a word and the shower turned on — Spencer almost wished he would have waited ten more minutes before getting up so that he and Morgan could have showered together. But showering together wasn’t always easy, especially since Derek couldn’t keep his hands to himself and Spencer didn’t make any attempt to stop him. If they had showered together, they would most definitely arrive late for work, and Spencer refused to be late to his first day back.

Autumn was in full swing, Spencer’s favorite season, so getting dressed was easy. He pulled on a pair of dark slacks paired with a dark blue button up and black cardigan. He was confident in the way he looked, believe it or not, and the way that Morgan looked at him when he came out of the bathroom definitely made him _feel_ good.

“All dressed up for me?” Derek teased, beginning to get dressed as well.

“Maybe,” Spencer shot back, eyes sparkling suggestively only for Morgan to chuckle and roll his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be dressing up for _me_? It is _my_ birthday, after all.” Spencer wasn’t the best at flirting, but with Morgan, everything came naturally to him. Of course, that didn’t mean that Reid never felt awkward, but Derek didn’t let it sway him. In fact, seeing that Spencer could still be so bashful and easily embarrassed after everything that happened was relieving and endearing — he wouldn’t change a thing.

“In your dreams, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said with a chuckle, before his tone changed and an expression built on fondness and love took over his sharp features. Reid nearly swooned.

“I’m really proud of you, Spence,” Morgan said from where he sat on the bed while Reid looked himself over in the full body mirror. He cast a glance over his shoulder at his partner, that handsome smile touching his boyish face. Derek caught sight of the scar on his cheek, not at all affected by it. He knew that all of the new scars on Spencer’s body were just further proof of his strength, and he would never mistake him for being weak again. Spencer had an internal strength that Derek had never seen before, and it was something to be cherished and praised. _Spencer_ was something to be cherished and praised.

“You tell me every day, Derek,” Spencer said with a slight lilt to his voice, obviously teasing in nature but carrying a hint of appreciation as well. Derek didn’t have to say anything else.

Soon, the two were ready and after slipping on his traditional converses and collecting his messenger bag, the two men set off for the Bureau, not without stopping for coffee first though. With two coffees in hand, they entered the bullpen, obviously a bit early since the rest of the team had yet to arrive. Hotch’s light was on in his office though, but he was always early. Spencer sometimes wondered if he lived there.

“I’ve kept up on the majority of your paperwork, but I left some of it just so you would have something to do when you came back,” Morgan admitted a bit sheepishly, brushing a hand over the back of his neck. He partially sat on the edge of Reid’s desk as said man set himself up for the day. Spencer looked up with a bit of a surprised expression, but he didn’t say anything. Just then, the infamous Penelope Garcia toddled into the bullpen, her heels clicking with her frantic steps as she approached the two men, a smile growing on her face as she saw Reid.

“The good doctor returns!” She praised. Reid rose from his desk when she approached with opened arms, hugging her happily and gasping a bit at her tight squeezes. He chuckled as she fretted over him, gripping him by the shoulders finally and smiling at him fondly.

“I know you said you didn’t want a party,” she said, Reid’s eyes widening a little at what she was alluding to, “But the others wanted to. I swear, I tried to stop them!” That obviously wasn’t true, but even so, Spencer couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

He was led into the roundtable room and his family cheered upon his entrance. The entire room was decorated like a kid’s birthday party, with streamers and confetti (obviously Garcia’s idea), and in the middle of the table was a two tier stand, chocolate donuts with sprinkles packed into it while a sign that read ‘Happy Birthday Spencer!’ sprouted from the top. His family swarmed him with his and birthday wishes, and Spencer beamed so brightly his cheeks were beginning to hurt. It was so nice to have such a tight knit group, and he would be a fool to forget that. The entire group was there, even Hotch with an uncharacteristic smile adorning his face. It was only further proof that should he have successfully taken his own life, he would have left many hurt people behind. He had yet to see his poor mother, but she didn’t need more stress. He would continue to send her letters, and while it was slightly painful to keep her in the dark, it was his own way of keeping her safe.

Spencer was elated, and that only made the rest of the workday go by smoothly. The party lasted about an hour at most, because Hotch, as reluctant as he seemed, instructed everyone to get back to work unless they wanted to have a sit down with Strauss. That seemed to disperse the flock, because they all headed back to their own work zones; Hotch, Rossi, and JJ back to their offices and Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss back to their desks in the bullpen. The entire day seemed as normal as any other in the past; They would work in silence for a little until someone wandered over to another’s desk and a conversation would ensue before they would get back to work. One would take a quick bathroom break, another would take a coffee break, but overall, work was work. And Spencer was incredibly grateful for a return to normalcy, gradually but effectively. He was cleared for travel, but he was to have limited field work, meaning that he would be spending the majority of his time working behind the scenes in the police department — but that was typical for him anyway, so there were no hard feelings there.

Eventually, the day came to a close, and Reid didn’t even realize that it was past five thirty until Derek came to his desk and stood behind him, his hands perching on his thin shoulders and massaging gently through the layers of his cardigan and button up. Spencer looked up towards Morgan with a small smile, and Derek, hardly giving a damn about the others around them, leaned down and whispered: “Come on, let’s go home, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer complied, shutting off his desktop and collecting his things as well as a few files he wanted to look over — mainly cases that had reached out, asking for professional opinions and the like. He was almost like a celebrity in the criminal justice system, as was the rest of the BAU, so the name Dr. Spencer Reid often turned heads. They had all partook in writing books and certain manuals, but Reid pursued many more academic opportunities in the form of research papers and theses.

Spencer followed Derek out of the bullpen, and he was quite proud of himself for making it through a full day without any evidence of his struggles. He was doing well, and honestly, work was a really good form of therapy for him to relieve the anxieties he often had when he wasn’t preoccupied. Work gave him a chance to let himself focus on something other than himself, and as JJ once said, Reid went to a different place when he read.

The ride home was pretty uneventful, Spencer chattering away about something or other while Morgan stayed quiet, except for the occasional comment or remark. They stopped for dinner, picking up takeout since neither agent wanted to be bothered with making food after a long day, and by seven, they were home. Home… Spencer wasn’t officially moved out of his apartment, but a lot of his things had found their way into Derek’s house, not including the items that Garcia had brought over for him. More and more books littered the guest room, even though he didn’t sleep in there anymore, and his own apartment was almost completely barren of clothing since the majority of it was in that guest room. Derek’s underlying determination to make him feel comfortable definitely helped him too, and in truth, Spencer didn’t know if he wanted to go back to living on his own.

When they turned onto their street though, blue and red flashed sporadically from police cruisers and ambulances lining the curb, a small group of officers congregating in the front yard of a house that was eerily close to their own. Derek’s dark eyes were wide, the lights illuminating the shocked expression of his face. Spencer didn’t quite understand what was going on until they pulled into the driveway, and things started to unravel.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, sharing a look with Morgan before both were racing to undo their seatbelts and rush towards the crime scene, their takeout left behind. The two agents hastily approached the officers on their neighbor’s front law, instinctively flashing their badges to accentuate their authority.

“Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid, FBI. What’s going on, officers?” Morgan spoke, tucking his credentials into his back pocket. One officer regarded them with a surprised expression, glancing between the two men incredulously. Another was left stunned, gaping like a fish out of water, since nobody had informed them that the damned FBI had been called in.

  
“We live next door,” Spencer supplied, and once again, the officers shared a collective look before one spoke up.

“Single homicide, victim Lillian Brooks aged forty-four, stabbed multiple times. Evidence of forced entry through the back door,” An officer responded. Morgan’s face fell and Spencer was just as shocked, crestfallen.

“We’d like to take a look,” Reid requested. And so they did. They entered the house cautiously, and everything besides the kitchen looked to be in place. In fact, the kitchen was in disarray. Lillian was on the floor, a sheet over her deceased body, but it didn’t hide the pool of blood she soaked in. There were several smashed plates and glasses, littering the tile while the backdoor showed signs of forced entry, most likely kicked in. A few crime scene investigators stood off to the side, looking up in confusion at the two unfamiliar faces that stepped foot into the house. After explaining briefly that they were neighbors who also happened to be FBI, they told them the state of the body and their theories, but in truth, it was pretty black and white. Forced entry, clear overkill, and an unorganized crime scene.

“Did you say your name was Spencer Reid? As in, _Doctor_ Reid?” One of the investigators questioned before retrieving a slip of bagged notebook paper from their evidence. “This note was left on the body, addressed to Dr. Reid.”

Spencer took it into his hands immediately, and upon reading those familiar words scratched across a single, torn piece of paper, his world was rocked by a tidal wave of panic and fear.

_My beautiful Dr. Reid,_

_She dulled in comparison to you. It’s_ your _fault she’s dead._

Spencer looked up slowly, his breath caught in his throat, but he managed to rasp out a single word.

  
“ _MacMillan_.”


	2. From the Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team unites under dire circumstances; Reid contemplates the philosophy of a natural disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but I had to split it up since the next chapter gets gritty.
> 
> Please heed the warnings.

“Reid, Reid, I need you to look at me,” Morgan exclaimed, his hands grasping onto Spencer’s trembling shoulders as he hyperventilated, the bag containing the pair clutched deathly tight with his hand. He was shaking, and the world was shaking, and if he were thinking clearly he might contemplate the probability of experiencing an earthquake immediately after traumatic events. But now was not the time. He was panicking, his body was giving out on him and Morgan was gathering him in his arms, but he lost all sensation of touch and feeling because _MacMillan was coming for him._ He feared he wouldn’t survive if he was forced to endure what he had already endured, and without Morgan, he would shatter again.

“He’s coming… He’s coming, Morgan…” Spencer breathed shakily, his hands grasping onto Morgan’s arms as he was pressed into his chest, sobs forcing their way from his throat as the bagged paper was slipped from his hands, Morgan subsequently passing it over towards a crime scene investigator before his attention was back to the trembling boy in his arms. Spencer opted to clutching to the front of his jacket, his eyes wide as tears fell effortlessly down his pale cheeks. He felt like he was dying, like the world was imploding around him, collapsing in on itself and

“Spencer, I need you to breathe for me, baby,” Morgan instructed gently, slowly guiding Spencer out of the house and in the direction of their own home. “Do you remember the 4-7-8, sweetheart? I need you to do that for me, okay?”

Spencer could barely hear Morgan through the sound of his heart throbbing in his ears, but ‘4-7-8’ made it to his conscious and he instinctively followed through with it. It was a breathing exercise used in relaxation but was also helpful to those who suffered from panic disorder. Morgan managed to bring him inside of their own home, sitting him down on the couch and taking a knee on the floor in between Spencer’s legs, holding his hands tightly over his thighs.

After some strenuous moments of calming himself down enough to actually breathe deeply, Spencer began the breathing exercise. Inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight. One breath. Spencer continued this several more times, completing a total of five breaths until his heart rate had slowed and his body stopped trembling. He looked up towards Derek with a lingering sadness in his hazel eyes, his hands still slightly unsteady within the other male’s grasp. He was afraid, that much was clear, and it was also obvious that the two of them were handling this together, but Spencer was certainly taking the brunt of it.

“There you go, there you are, Spencer,” Morgan cooed softly, his deep voice ricocheting off of his very pericardium and reflecting back into the inner depths of his heart muscle. He bit his bottom lip, but Derek’s hand was raised to his face to wipe away the tears before he was even aware of their presence. They were unwelcome guests, and Spencer didn’t want anything to do with crying right now. But his throat was clenching and his breathing was getting shallower again. But Derek was right there, hushing him and holding his hand through a rather frightening panic attack.

“I’m okay,” Reid breathed softly, his voice trembling against his lips, “I’m okay.”

“Yes, you are,” Morgan assured him, squeezing his hands to annunciate this point. Spencer would fall apart without Derek, and it was moments like these that reminded him of how dependent his emotional health was on his partner. But Derek promised him that he was there to stay, and how could he question that when those eyes looked so intently at him?

“MacMillan… Lilly was just a warning,” he whispered, eyes holding a form of terror that resembled the how he felt when he was still _with_ MacMillan. But he had to remind himself that he wasn’t — and Derek would be damned if that happened again. They might have to muzzle him should the man even try taking Spencer away from him again.

“You’re right,” Derek sighed, lacing their fingers together and joining Spencer on the couch, sitting with his torso primarily facing the other man who looked crestfallen at the sudden shift in their lives. Paul MacMillan, the man who had broken him to pieces and nearly killed him, was back with a vengeance, and the enraged overkill in Lillian Brooks was only a fragment of how angry he was with Spencer.

“C-Call Hotch… The team…” Reid suddenly looked panicked again, hands releasing from Morgan’s as he scrambled for his phone in his back pocket, ripping it out and calling Hotch on speed dial. He cried frantically to Morgan while the phone rang, “Start calling them!”

Morgan didn’t argue with that. Thankfully, the team was accounted for and after individually telling them what was going on, they agreed to meet at the BAU to discuss the MacMillan case again. Spencer also knew that he was most likely going to be placed in protective custody since a deranged killer was after him, but he trusted his team and their resources. They would most certainly guarantee that he would be kept safe, and he wasn’t one to argue with that, especially since they all knew what the man was capable of — Reid especially.

Within forty-five minutes, the entirety of the BAU was gathered in the roundtable room, Morgan standing behind Spencer who sat rather uncomfortably in his usual seat, his legs crossed with one arm wrapped around his torso and the other raised up, his teeth gnawing at his nails. It was a nervous habit, and he usually got himself to stop by reminding himself of all of the germs and bacteria lingering under his fingernails. But that wasn’t working today. Derek had given up trying to get him to stop too, and instead opted to just rest a hand over his shoulder.

The team didn’t exactly know of their relationship, only that Reid was still living with Morgan until he was capable of living on his own without panicking at the mere thought of being alone. Derek wanted nothing more than to hold Spencer, kiss him and tell him everything was going to be alright. But he could not right now, and that was painful for both of them.

The team came in with full knowledge of the situation, since Morgan told Hotch everything who in turn told the team everything. Penelope came skittering in with a frown on her face upon seeing Reid’s distressed state, giving Derek a knowing look before taking a seat at the table beside Reid. She offered her hand to him and he instantly latched on, his parasitic tendencies of dependency getting the better of him. Garcia looked somewhat surprised by his quickness to take her hand. Usually, their resident genius was reluctant to physical contact, but today, his standards of behavior and normality were out the window.

“Lillian Brooks was killed this evening in her home by Paul MacMillan,” Hotch said to the team once everyone was scheduled, casting a concerned glance to Reid. Softened, fragile eyes looked back, his face losing a touch of that hardness for a few seconds before he returned to the situation at hand. Reid needed to stay focused if he wanted to be of use to his team, so with one hand in Penelope’s and the other finding Morgan’s, he sat up a bit straighter, his lips pressed into a thin, solemn line.

“Overkill,” Prentiss pointed out, looking over the crime scene photos of the mutilated body, “Stabbed in the face, neck, torso… Looks like he just went with wherever was convenient. If I had to guess, I’d say he stabbed her at least twenty times.”

“Thirty-eight,” Reid supplemented in a meek voice, a range of sympathetic looks sent his way before Rossi took over.

“No evidence of sexual assault or mutilation to the genitals though. He’s clearly devolving. This was pure rage,” Dave said with a small gesture of his hand, JJ nodding immediately and opening her mouth to speak. She seemed hesitant, meeting Reid’s eyes across the table. He urged her to go on silently, too nervous to admit it himself.

“I’d say it’s because of Spence,” she finally said, her voice low and somewhat saddened by this prospect, “MacMillan didn’t get what he wanted. He wasn’t able to keep Reid like he planned and… he’s angry with him.”

“It was just a warning,” Morgan started, his brows furrowed downwards above his sharp eyes, “‘Look at what I can do.’”

“Garcia, were you able to find any evidence of where MacMillan could be staying?” Hotch questioned, looking to the bubbly younger woman who jerked upwards when her name was called.

“Um, no sir. Nothing yet. His bank account is untouched, but when he left Bloomington after…” her eyes glanced towards Reid who had begun to pick at the sleeve of his cardigan, “He withdrew money from an ATM just outside of Bloomington — one thousand dollars. But after that, nothing,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Of course not. MacMillan may be psychotic, but he’s not stupid. He’s making sure to cover his tracks,” Rossi said with a sigh.

“But he’s devolving. We can use that to our advantage,” Morgan piped in.

“Not unless he strikes again,” Hotch uttered, leaving them all with a sense of horror as they dispersed to plan and hopefully learn more. Garcia, JJ, and Hotch headed to her office to brainstorm ideas and figure out where he was staying while Rossi and Prentiss lingered in the roundtable room to wait for word from the M.E. that the body was ready to be examined. Reid hadn’t moved from his spot, and upon taking a closer look, Morgan could see the distant glint in Spencer’s golden eyes, his teeth chewing on his nails again. But what was most concerning was that Derek could see crimson. Reid had bit a nail back so far that he was beginning to bleed, and while it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as the bathroom incident, he couldn’t say the thought of Reid hurting himself again — albeit unintentionally this time.

“Reid, stop, you’re hurting yourself,” Morgan chastised cautiously, crouching down in front of Spencer and guiding his hand away from his mouth with a gentle grip on his wrist. The other two agents in the room looked towards the couple in surprise, and Rossi approached with Prentiss close behind, his hand coming to Spencer’s shoulder.

“We’re not going to let him hurt you again, Kid,” Rossi said, as if he were talking to a child, but it wasn’t demeaning. It was more along the lines of comforting, paternally, and Reid needed that desperately right now. Prentiss passed a tissue to Derek who used it to wipe the blood from Reid’s finger, a sigh passing his lips.

“I’ll kill that son of a bitch before he even has the chance to touch you again,” Morgan said, his anger lacing around each syllable. It caused Reid’s gaze to shift upwards, and from this new angle, Derek could see how Reid’s lips were trembling just slightly. His eyes were watery and a few tears fell, clinging to his dark lashes.

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” Reid admitted quietly. He had never been so overcome by emotion before. Hell, he had never been this _afraid_ before. The lines between reality and fantasy were beginning to blur, and he wondered if this was all just some sick nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from. The fear within him was thunderous, resounding through his very being and creating a storm of distress within him. The way his skin prickled from the tears felt like electricity, burning him alive until he was just a pile of ashes.

The earth had a funny way of dealing with its troubles. If something went wrong, it would simply collapse on itself or throw things around or cry in anger, and this was considered natural. Yet, if people behaved the same way, they were deemed abnormal or disturbed, evaded from sanity. Perhaps the irony of the earth was that it was said to have normal functions and processes, but its disasters were anything but natural. From the monstrous waves of tsunamis to the melting lava of volcanoes — how could such tragedies be described as _natural_? The implication of a paradox upon the title itself was almost claimable, but there was no sense to it. A disaster was sudden and posed the risk of massive loss of life. That was far from natural. How could the loss of a life so unexpectedly be considered natural?

But, perhaps, it was the mentality of a situation. Natural disasters happened so often, that the loss of life affiliated with them became normal and expected. Reid liked to believe that perhaps what happened to him was a natural disaster — it had been sudden, unplanned, yet the outcomes were as expected.

“We’ll make it through this, Reid,” Morgan said to him, watching as Spencer’s eyes rose, yet they weren’t looking at him. They were faraway, and the tears made it hard to tell if he was actually _there_ or not. Reid didn’t say anything in response, and since he was in so much distress, Derek stood him up and led him into JJ’s office, bringing him to the couch. Spencer hugged him tight around the neck once he sat down, and Derek had not choice but to hold him in return. His hand splayed over Spencer’s back, his other resting on the back of Spencer’s head and gently stroking his dark waves until the other man began to slump against him, exhausted by his own emotions.

Perhaps that was a natural disaster too.


	3. Upon Those Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is taken; Spencer prevails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm looking at wrapping this series up within the next chapter or so, but I hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> Please heed the warnings.

It wasn’t until several hours had passed that Spencer began to wake up. He had fallen asleep in JJ’s office, curled up in Derek’s arms with tears running down his cheeks. The feeling of wet cheeks was something he was becoming far too comfortable with, and should he have been the man he was several years ago, his emotions wouldn’t have betrayed him as frequently as they did. He felt weak, fragile, more so than he was used to, and it was uncomfortable for him to look back and realize that he had fallen apart so many times in front of his family, and in public. He wasn’t a very emotional person, but these events had sort of broken down his walls exponentially, and he wasn’t sure how to build them back up on his own. Morgan didn’t seem to like the idea of him building them back at all, specifically because he liked to know what was wrong with Spencer without having to persuade him into opening up to him. Now, Reid was an open book, his spine had been cracked, and it was impossible to keep himself closed.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, blinking several times and looking around the darkened office and looking down at the heavy jacket thrown over his torso. It was Morgan’s, which most likely meant that he was still here. He sat up slowly, arching his back to get the blood flowing to his extremities and sat up. His feet touched the ground and a yawn tore its way past his lips. He felt somewhat lightheaded, most likely because he was dehydrated from all of the crying and the fact that the only liquid intake he had that day was several cups of coffee. 

He was unsure of what time it was, but considering it was still dark outside, he knew he had to have been asleep for at least two hours. It had been around eight o’clock when the team gathered in the conference room and discussed the situation, so if Reid had to guess, he would say it was around ten. He didn’t know if the others had gone home for the night and planned to continue in the morning or if they were all still there. Hotch practically lived in his office though, so he wouldn’t be surprised if he was gone. But upon closer inspection, he saw JJ’s purse sitting in her chair behind her desk, and light was filtering in underneath of the closed door.

Deciding to investigate, Reid stood up and adjusted himself to look somewhat presentable, although his hair screamed bedhead, and he wandered out into the bullpen. He didn’t know where anyone was, but since the lights were still on, he had to assume that they were still here or at least working. Morgan and Prentiss left their belongings at their desks, but Emily’s FBI windbreaker was not on the back of her chair where it had been earlier. He sighed and sat down at his desk, slipping his phone out of his pocket and looking to see if he had any missed notifications or emails — which he didn’t. Somewhat concerned and curious, he shot Derek a quick text asking where he was and what was going on before standing again and making his way towards Garcia’s den.

Thankfully, he saw her blonde head inside, slipping in and closing the door behind him, at which the blonde perked up and looked back, her eyes wide and watery and her bubblegum pink lips parted just slightly. She looked surprised at first to see Reid standing there, but then her face fell and a grim expression took residence on her usually happy face.

“What’s going on?” Reid asked instantly, stepping closer to her and leaning down with his hands on the desk to look at the monitor she had previously been focused on, as if that held the reasoning behind her expression. And it partially did — it had the address of an apartment building several blocks away from Morgan’s house, as well as MacMillan’s name on the lease. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was there. He would be a fool to stay there after what he had done.

“Reid…” Garcia started, looking up at him as he scrolled down on her computer frantically, beginning to panic since he knew that _something_ was wrong. Garcia just wouldn’t outright tell him and that was both frustrating and horrifying to Spencer. He looked towards her with terror in his golden eyes, his hand stilling over the computer mouse when hers came down to rest on top of it.

“What is it?” Reid nearly exclaimed, but his voice came out as a breathy whisper, his lips trembling slightly and his entire body beginning to go on high alert. His heart was throbbing rapidly in his chest, and he could feel his lungs burning from his quickening breaths.

“It’s Morgan, he…” she started, only to trail off. A few tears fell from her cheeks as she clenched onto Reid’s hand tightly. She guided the other towards her chest, and with both of her hands, she held Spencer’s trembling ones, guiding him to sit down in a nearby chair. Reid didn’t respond, his eyes wide with anticipation while his own eyes watered up.

“He’s gone… MacMillan has him, he…”

Spencer’s brain short-circuited at the revelation. Morgan… gone? How? This was all his fault… If he had been there, he could have prevented this from ever happening since MacMillan would only have been focused on him. Now that Derek was in MacMillan’s hands, Reid felt a new sense of responsibility rise up within him — he needed to do something about this. He couldn’t wallow in his own self-pity anymore.

“He… took Derek?” A breath of a whisper passed Spencer’s lips. Morgan needed him now more than ever, and after all of the times that Derek had been there for him, he had to help him. Spencer loved Derek more than anything; his love for Derek was a wildfire. It had been ignited by natural causes, but now, it was impossible to put out, and when it did, all that would remain of him would be ashes and embers. He couldn’t let Derek suffer while he sat around and cried himself to sleep. Derek was depending on him, and Reid would never let himself go on without knowing he had done everything possible to save him.

Within the next hour, Reid had put his head on straight and got to work Garcia informed him that Derek had been missing for a total of seven hours. Reid had misjudged the time by quite a bit, learning that by the time he woke up, it was nearly five in the morning. That meant that less than an hour after Spencer had fallen asleep in Derek’s arms, he had been taken. He went alone to talk to Lillian’s family at her home, mainly just to assure them that they were doing everything they could to find the man who did this to her. But he had been intercepted by MacMillan somewhere on his way back to the BAU. They found the SUV he had been driving, wrecked in a ditch off of Jefferson Davis highway with a significant amount of damage on the driver’s side door and fender, meaning he had been ran off the road. His credentials had been left behind, purposely opened up and left on the dashboard as a sort of taunt.

This brought Reid back to the previous made conclusion that MacMillan was a psychotic narcissist, but that conflicted with his sexual identity crisis. He was devolving, in slow motion, since Reid had been the first phase of that devolution. Morgan was the second phase, and the third would simply be to obtain Reid once more, although he couldn’t quite predict if MacMillan was headed towards suicide or attempting to flee. Either seemed to be a viable option, but since he was in psychosis, it would be impossible to tell when his flashes of reality would set in.

In order to profile a psychopath, one had to _be_ a psychopath, essentially. But since Spencer was far from being psychotic, his profile was heavily reliant on studies of behavior and understanding that he had been doing all of his life. He had been prepared for moments like these, both through his extensive schooling and through his time in the academy. He had spent hours of his life giving seminars on this exact topic; teaching classes to recruits and writing heavily in-depth research papers. Yet he felt lost and his mind ran blank because all he could think about was Derek.

And it hit him. Where else could MacMillan possibly go? He had nowhere else, except the one place where it all began: that wretched house perched on its hill, buried in the landscape of tall trees and rolling green. There was no other place. It had been marked as a crime scene after MacMillan’s initial killings and Reid’s abduction, but he was pretty sure it still sat there, abandoned and waged in a war against time. MacMillan had nothing and he was built upon a foundation that challenged reason and sanity, so it was almost predictable that he would return to the only place he felt was normal and familiar.

“Reid, honey, are you okay?” Garcia asked gently, looking at the resident genius who had stood frozen in his place for several minutes, lips moving slowly over his unvoiced thoughts. He didn’t respond though, simply looking at her with furrowed brows and a determined expression on his face before whipping his phone out of his pocket and dialing Hotch.

“Hotchner,” Aaron’s familiar, clear and concise voice spoke through the speaker, Garcia perking up a bit at the sound of her boss yet looking at Reid with a confused expression since she wasn’t quite following his enlightenment — primarily because he had yet to share it with her.

“Hotch, he’s going back to Bloomington,” Spencer said without hesitation, his tone carrying that traditional effect of doubtless conviction. He was certain in himself, and he knew that his team would trust his intelligence to follow through with his suggestion.

“Why do you think that?” Hotch asked, despite the fact that he was already gesturing for the team to head out to the SUVs. They had reconvened at the crime scene after Morgan’s abduction, figuring it was a good place to start since that was where he had last been. But seeing the sudden shift in Hotch’s behavior, they were filled with a newfound sense of hope since Reid was coming to conclusions again, and he wasn’t letting himself fall apart under the pressure of working a case involving MacMillan and Morgan.

“He has to. MacMillan’s in a psychotic state right now, and in that state, he probably feels crazed and hysterical. He’s suffering an identity crisis and that conflicts with his narcissistic personality, so he’s going to go to the one place he feels safe,” Reid said, looking past Garcia’s wide eyed face and at the computer screen, seeing the rundown apartment building MacMillan had been staying in. “He won’t be going back to that apartment.” That was enough for Hotch, because he told Reid to meet the team at the airstrip, which he immediately complied to do. He turned to leave Garcia’s den, but her hand wrapped around his wrist stopped him, and he looked back the blonde, confused.

“Be careful,” Penelope said softly, her eyes watery but a smile touching her lips, “And save my man.”

* * *

Soon, Reid found himself at the airstrip, having parked the government-issued black SUV a bit haphazardly and pacing in front of it, but when the team arrived he had never been more relieved. Wordlessly, the team gathered Spencer and boarded the jet, sitting near one another in the middle of the cylindrical cabin. JJ held Spencer’s hand with her own, but she was shocked to see a sharp expression taking residence on his usually soft and calmed features. No, Spencer looked _pissed_ and it wasn’t often that their boy genius let himself get angry. Nobody commented on though, but they didn’t let him boil in unconfined rage alone. They all were angry, because when one member of their team was hurt, it was an attack on all of them.

Once they had landed, the team took two cars to the house hidden in the town of Bloomington, the trip taking about ninety minutes in total, but a sense of impending danger loomed over all of them. Derek’s life was on the line here, and even if Spencer was determined to get him out of this alive, that didn’t necessarily mean it was guaranteed. It was going to be difficult, but if a firefight was what MacMillan wanted, it was what he was going to get. The team met with officers from the local department, the same men they had worked with several months ago in an attempt to apprehend MacMillan. But they were here again, and he was cornered.

His car sat, unoccupied, in the long winding driveway, which meant that he had to be inside. It was possible he had fled into the woods, but if that were the case, Morgan couldn’t have gone with him, and would have been left behind. Spencer didn’t want to consider that possibility though, because it most likely meant that Morgan was dead. That didn’t fit the profile. He would most likely want to trade, and if that’s what he wanted, Reid had no choice but to hand himself over in exchange for Morgan. MacMillan wouldn’t kill him. Spencer was who he wanted, and if he handed himself over, he trusted that his team would be able to get him out of there alive.

So that’s what he did. Spencer disarmed himself, handing his gun over to a nearby officer and approaching the house, undoing his vest along the way while ignoring the cries of his team. He didn’t have a choice. He had to do this if he wanted to assure Morgan’s survival.

“Reid!” JJ called hysterically, her hands pressed down against the hood of one of the cars as she watched Reid walk through the flames of doubt and unstable ground, willingly subjecting himself to the burns of sacrifice and self-oblation.

“What is he doing?!” Rossi exclaimed then, a muttered agreement from Prentiss while Hotch watched in silence. Reid had a rapport. It was dangerous of him to go alone, but it was too late to stop him. As soon as that blue vest emblazoned with the initials FBI hit the ground, Hotch knew he was too far gone to pull back. A few of the officers made moves to run after him and pull him back forcefully, but Hotch simply shook his head, holstering his gun.

“Let him go,” he said, only hoping that Spencer Reid could get himself out of this one on his own.

Reid approached the house without fear, his body standing tall while his strides were graceful and poised. He was giving himself up to the disaster of fate, and while some would call him foolish, he knew that what he was doing was right. Fate had a funny way of calling those it deemed worthy. He thanked whatever gods were out there for his unconquerable soul, because he was here and he was healed with a newfound strength of redemption that others had been stripped of before him. MacMillan may have taken away a piece of himself, but he had replaced it quickly with a burning sense of self built upon subjugation and integrity. MacMillan would never be able to take his dignity away, and no matter how many times he had to relive the moment his legs were forced apart, he would never be broken again.

“I’m here, Paul!” He called through the closed front door, hearing some shuffling within almost as soon as he spoke. His hand rose and pounded against the door with more strength than he thought he was capable of. He stepped back from the door and threw his arms out, a humorless laugh bubbling past his upturned lips.

“This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to see me suffer, hurt me in the worst way possible. You aren’t hard to predict, Paul, I study men like you. You took Morgan to get to me, and you got what you wanted. Let me in so that we can talk about this.”

Silence followed for what seemed like hours, but soon, the door was pulled open by the toe of a boot and what greeted him was MacMillan posed behind Morgan, a gun pressed to his temple. Blood dripped from a deep gash on Derek’s opposite temple, a pained grimace overtaking his expression from the forced movement on his leg which, even through the jeans he was wearing, was very clearly broken.

“Do we have a shot?” Hotch radioed a sharpshooter positioned within the forest, crosshairs dipping back and forth between MacMillan and his hostage and the FBI agent who approached the toxic situation. The wind was southward, and at this angle, a shot could potentially harm the hostage.

“Negative,” came back a staticky response, and Hotch huffed in slight frustration before his attention returned to his agents and MacMillan.

“Get inside, quick, quick!” MacMillan said to Reid who immediately moved to enter the house, his eyes never leaving the gun jammed into his lover’s head. Once he was inside, the door was slammed shut and Morgan was shoved down to the ground, groaning at the pain flooding through his body. He was handcuffed, his broken leg useless to the point where he couldn’t feel his toes anymore. Reid was both worried and enraged by the sight of Derek hurt and in danger, but he didn’t let it show, opting to keep his expression relatively neutral, save for the occasional flashes of fear in his dark eyes.

But to MacMillan, he was as beautiful as the day he first saw him. A manic smile took place on Paul’s face, and he approached the slighter man with opened arms, his finger still on the trigger. Reid was engulfed in a strong embrace, his arms remaining at his sides as a brief episode of panic brought a stillness to his body.

“Oh, I love you so much, Spencer… I knew you would come back to me. I’m sorry for that note I left, but I had to get your attention somehow!” MacMillan cried, pulling back to press the barrel of the gun against his side, his free hand stroking Reid’s hair and face lovingly. Spencer took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to rid himself of potential nerves before he responded to the crazed man.

“Paul, this isn’t right, what you’re doing,” he said to him, raising a hand up to remove the one pressed to the side of his cheek. He lowered it slowly, maintaining eye contact despite the fear running cold in his veins. MacMillan’s former anger and hate towards Reid had clearly turned into some sort of twisted obsession, formed by his admiration for the man and his impressive rebounding ability. MacMillan wasn’t confused anymore. He knew what he wanted, and it was finally right in front of him.

“I only killed her to get to you, Dr. Reid,” Paul said as if it were some sort of chivalrous act, the gun shifting slightly to press harshly into Spencer’s gut. He nearly winced at the painful pressure, but he didn’t let it dominate his expression at all. “I had to do it. Otherwise we would never get to see each other again.”

“Paul, you killed an innocent woman to get to me,” Spencer said softly, trying to reason with MacMillan and explain to his psychotic state what he had done wrong. It was obviously not going to work though, because Paul seemed both frustrated and confused by Reid’s reply.

“She doesn’t matter!” He shouted angrily, his forceful position of the gain forcing a gasp from Spencer as it jutted into his ribcage, his eyes widening slightly at the click of the safety. “You’re so ungrateful! I did all of this for you, Dr. Reid!”

“Paul, I—“

“No! No, you have no idea how long I planned this! I brought you here, to the place we first made love! This is where it began, Spencer! And then-And then you ran away from me, but I know it was because you were just scared of commitment but you came back to me! You came back because we’re meant to be! We love each other!” Paul cried desperately, his other hand grasping painfully tight on Spencer’s bicep. Spencer felt tears in his eyes, his own internal suffering coming to light. He could feel Morgan’s eyes watching him, but he refused to acknowledge his presence; not yet. He couldn’t give him attention without fearing that Paul would eradicate anything that came between them.

“You _raped_ me, Paul!” Spencer nearly screamed in response, his hand coming to rest over the barrel of the gun pressed into his abdomen, as if to alleviate the pressure which would surely cause a bruise in the aftermath. He would be lucky if that’s all he got away with though. “You raped me and nearly killed me in the attic!”

“No, no, that was _your_ fault! You made me angry, I didn’t want to hurt you!”

“But you _did_ and I have to live with that for the _rest of my life_!”

A gunshot pelted the air like hail, and a body slumped. The gun clattered to the ground, and all Morgan could do was _scream._ Blood pooled on the ground, and it was looking like history was repeating itself. Memories of life before then burned through the air, and the smell of their smoke intoxicated Spencer to the point where breathing was becoming painful and his head was getting dizzy. Spencer cast a glance towards Morgan, a smile touching his paling lips. Morgan was his rock in this natural disaster, the one constant he could count on. He set alight within him a raucous storm of eternity which proved to rage on even through unprecedented times. Spencer wasn’t going to be the only one bleeding out on that familiar wooden flooring. Skin grated against hot metal, and another aural assault to the ears permeated Paul MacMillan’s existence into oblivion.

And Spencer let his eyes rest.


	4. Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer and Derek are rescued; Life goes on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I want to thank everyone so much for all of the support I have received for this series, as short as it was. I am pleased with the way my first writing project turned out, and I only hope the you all liked it as well. Thank you so much for reading the Fragments of You series -- here is the final chapter of Natural Disasters!

“ _Spencer!”_ He had never heard someone shout his given name so desperately, with so much terror, but for some reason, Morgan had a habit of saying his name with fervor. He didn’t quite know why it was that Morgan was screaming, all he knew was that the pain burning in his lower abdomen was getting worse, the growing blossom of crimson on his shirt was getting bigger. He gasped for air, the bullet lodged somewhere in his body since he couldn’t feel an exit wound anywhere. But then again, he had been shot with a .38. Guns like those were small, efficient, but the bullets were small and after penetrating a body, they bounced around like pinballs. Perhaps Spencer was lucky it had been just a .38, but then again, he was losing feeling, starting with the pleasant numbness residing in his toes and fingers, and ever so slowly crawling upwards like ivy.

“Where are the fucking medics?!” Another shout blared across his existence, Morgan again as a few voices chorused in their responses. The team had breached the house as soon as the first gunshot was heard, and the resounding shot only fueled them to quicken their pace. The sight they were confronted with was brutal, that is, to any normal person. But to the BAU, it would have been like any other gunshot victim, had that victim not been Reid and his assailant.

Reid was on his side on the ground, having been shot in the lower left abdomen, but upon closer inspection, it was looking more like his hip. As soon as Morgan was freed from his duct taped wrists, he was dragging his injured body towards the other man, swatting at his concerned team members who simply wanted to get him out of there and preferably into the back of an ambulance. But he wasn’t leaving without Reid — that much was clear.

“Reid… Spencer, talk to me, baby,” Derek begged his lover, a hand coming up to brush his dark hair out of his face and resting over his cheek. Blood spattered over his face from the wound he had inflicted upon MacMillan, the wound in his chest clear evidence that Reid had aimed well despite his own incapacitated state. Spencer’s lids fluttered, his lips parted as he gasped for air, looking up towards Morgan with much exhaustion on his face, his trembling hand raising to come over Derek’s, their fingers sliding together effortlessly. They had a brief discussion in the past regarding their relationship status, and while they were comfortable in public around strangers, they didn’t want to share it with their coworkers just yet. It was personal, private, and it was something all their own. But they were damned with that now, because Derek was running on passion, and seeing his lover dying for the _third_ time, was getting to be too much for him to handle.

“Der’k,” Spencer breathed, shifting himself just slightly and wincing at the pain that spread through him, shooting along his side and down his thigh. But he would do it again and again if it meant seeing that light twinkling in Derek’s eyes for all eternity.

“That’s it, baby, hang in there. Medics are almost here, just don’t take your eyes off of me,” Derek said frantically, looking over his partner’s body and grimacing at the sight of blood soaking his shirt and pants. If Reid were in his right mind, he would probably complain at the discomfort feeling of wet clothes.

“‘m okay…” Spencer said, both as a reassurance to himself and Derek. His entire body was engulfed in the fiery pain of a gunshot wound, and he knew for sure that it had struck his hip bone. It was a similar sensation as breaking a bone, and although he had only broken his wrist when he was a little kid, he knew what it felt like. Except this time, it was like a constant grating of bone against bone, cracking and splintering off into his extremities until all he could feel was white hot agony. He could hear the sound of more footsteps across those wooden planks, reminding him of his location, and soon, he felt the presence of more than just Derek, and he whimpered as a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“That’s it, you’re doing great. Medics are here, baby, they’re going to take you to help you, okay? You’re going to be just fine,” Morgan said, his heart wrenching at the quiet whimpers as Reid begged him not to leave him. But he was just as helpless, stranded on the floor with a broken leg as Reid was carefully manipulated onto a backboard and taken out through the front door.

He was addressed next, and he followed suit, although in a different ambulance. This situation was all too familiar to what the team had experienced here just months before. As he was loaded up into the ambulance, he peeked out at that same attic window at the top of the house, and was left with a feeling of relief when all he saw was darkness, rather than his lover’s ghost staring back.

* * *

Hospitals were always terrible, in Morgan’s opinion. He hated stepping foot into hospitals, because they always reminded him of suffering and death, and he hated thinking of such things with Spencer disappearing behind the doors of the OR. He was taken for x-rays, much lighter in comparison to Spencer’s situation; he was all Derek could think about. He was being cut open for the second time, and although these efforts were simply to preserve his life, Derek was still left with a cold, clammy feeling in his hands at the thought of his lover’s blood everywhere, splattering across the OR table and staining blue scrubs. The pain of the medical personnel setting his leg brought him back to reality, and he was ever so grateful for the ache to rid him of such negativity. Spencer would be fine. He was strong, and although it wasn’t clearly shown in physicality, it was all in the man’s mentality. He had been through a hell of a lot despite not even reaching thirty; this was only a stunt in his growth, in _their_ metamorphosis. They had grown together, built their foundation _together,_ and nothing would stop them from prospering together. Not even this.

After several hours in surgery, head nurse Margaret Wells came to address the outcome of the surgery of a Spencer Reid to the loitering FBI agents in her ER waiting room.

“Spencer Reid?” she called. As soon as she said the name, all five of them jumped up, save for the man in the wheelchair who only perked up upon hearing the name. Her eyes widened when, after a brief glance down to her chart, she looked up to see four of the five surrounding her, all with expectant eyes and hopeful expressions.

“Are you all here for Mr. Reid?” She asked them.

“Doctor,” a wheelchair-bound man said immediately. Derek had a cast confining his lower right leg which stopped just beneath his knee, and a bandage taped to his temple. Margaret regarded him with a frown, but she didn’t comment nor correct herself, continuing on with what she had to say.

“The patient presented with a single GSW to the left iliac region. The bullet struck his pelvis and imbedded itself in the iliac crest, which cracked the bone and damaged nearby vessels. But the bullet was successfully removed and corrective surgery was performed to fix the break in the bone. Several pins were placed, and although extensive physical therapy will be necessary, the patient is expected to make a full recovery.”

Morgan had never felt so happy, and he swore he might cry. He ran his hands over his head and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, looking up the nurse with wide dark eyes.

“When can we see him?” He asked softly, JJ’s hand resting over his shoulder as if she could sense the emotion coursing through his body.

“Now, actually. He should be all set up in his room, since we’d like to keep him for the next few days for monitoring,” Margaret said, gesturing for the group to follow her. They took the elevator up to the fifth floor. It reminded Morgan of the time he and Spencer had gotten stuck in an elevator, but somehow, this felt longer than that. Finally though, the elevator stilled and its silver doors made way for the group to step off and see their friend.

And never before had Derek felt such relief. His eyes were wide, and his lips were parted slightly, and his stillness urged Emily forward to push him past the doorway of the room and to Spencer’s bedside. He was asleep, but Derek still though he was perfect, angelic even. Those luscious curls, framing his pretty face and splaying against the white pillow. His Spencer was so beautiful, yet perhaps the natural disaster of it all was his refusal to see so for himself. Spencer could move oceans, and as frightening as it was to drown within them, Derek would drown time and time again if it meant Spencer would be his forever.

He sat by his bedside for hours, holding his hand or touching his face, simply reminding himself that Spencer was alive, his heart still throbbed in his chest, and his blood still ran warm through his veins. It was such a revelation for Derek, and while he would brood in his thoughts forever, the gentle twitching of fingers against his own was enough to wake him from his tireless lamenting. Spencer’s hand grasped his own, just slightly, and looking up, precious eyes looked back. Looking into those eyes was like gazing upon a clear night sky, with millions of stars twinkling within him. His soul was the essence of the sky and earth, and the feelings trapped within those molten eyes were a volcano, just waiting to explode.

And then he said his name, and everything fell into place.

“Derek,” Spencer murmured, his voice soft, somewhat rough, but beautiful all the same.

“Spencer…” Derek breathed in response, wanting so badly to lift himself up and fit their lips together until no space lingered between them. But he could not, and neither could Spencer, but he would accept that warm smile as recompense for his lost desires any day. Derek lifted Spencer’s hand to his face, smothering his pale skin in kisses and being careful of the IV bruising the back of his hand. Spencer let out something similar to a giggle, breathless and somewhat pained, but it was there, and the smile never left.

“Derek,” Spencer said again, just for the sake of saying his lover’s name, and the tears that welled in Morgan’s eyes were enough for him to appreciate the oncoming flood of passionate emotions and tenderness. Their hands grasped for each other desperately, and Morgan managed to get himself onto the bedside, avoiding putting either of them through more pain. Spencer hugged the other man around the neck, Morgan’s elbows resting on the bed on either side of Spencer’s head. Their lips met, the world blurred, and tears bled together.

* * *

_“This is my confession. As dark as I am, I will always find enough light to adore you to pieces, with all of my pieces.”_ — Johnny Nguyen.


End file.
